


Magic in the Moonlight

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emerald Graves, F/M, Flirting, Friday Fluff, Gen, Post Fade kiss, Solas and Lavellan - Freeform, early romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, maybe *sometimes* the Dalish get naked and dance in the moonlight. My submission for Solas Fluff Friday, SFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’re wearing a flower crown.” 

Dorian’s voice wavered somewhere between amused and disappointed with a touch of incredulity—she was guessing it was more along the lines of humor, given his twitching moustache and the casual tilt of his head. “And you truly think that will keep you safe? This is what your little jaunt into Emprise was for? I mean, it’s definitely a step up from that miserable heap of Orlesian towels you piled on your head as an affront to fashion, but flowers? How very….”

“Gauche? Silly? Pretty?” Remli offered with a grin, adjusting the prize on her head and batting her eyes at him. This earned her a snort of laughter in return.

“ _Elvish_ , I was going to say,” he replied, pushing off from the wall and sauntering over. “If Mother Giselle sees you in that she’s going to go into a foaming frenzy and lock you away until you see the light of Andraste. Can’t have you running about the woods with flowers on your heads, the next thing you know we’ll start getting reports of the Inquisitor dancing naked in the moonlight.”

“Not naked,” she laughed, tapping the band that held the flowers in place. “But now that you’ve spoiled _those_ evening plans….”

“Draste’s tits, don’t be going on about more elfy stuff,” scoffed Sera, hopping down from the wall where Dorian had stood, planting her hands firmly on her hips. “Bad enough we’ve got Mr. Moldy books over there going on and on about the spirits and graves and woods and trees and blah blah blah.”

Remli shook her head, then glanced at the sky, trying to judge how much of the daylight they had left. They probably had an hour or so, enough time to cross the stream and try that astrarium again. The sooner they finished sorting out the rifts and freemen, the sooner they could get back to their search for more answers behind the red lyrium knights. 

But it was so nice to be outside among the trees again, away from the bustling refugees and crush of people spilling into Skyhold. Not to mention the noise that came with repairs that were going into making the place habitable again. Besides, when had a little self-indulgence hurt anyone? She brought turned her attention back to her comrades at arms, taking stock in her forces.

There was Dorian, currently fussing with vines that had somehow found their way under his armor and were apparently landing in uncomfortable places. Tell a man that they called it rashvine for a reason, but would he listen?

Sera, who may or may not have had something to do with the rashvine getting into those uncomfortable places. The woman was acting a bit dodgy as of late, “too much elfiness” and all that. Probably best not to ask her to come shooting things at the moment, especially since Remli had hoped to get another peek at some of those murals on the stone.

And then there was Solas. He leaned against the statue of the Dread Wolf, cradling his staff in his crossed arms and watching the other two with a placid smile. Relaxed, indulgent, like a Keeper watching two disagreeable teenagers. For all his “apostate hobo” look, she had no trouble envisioning him as one of the emerald knights who stood tall and proud, holding off the shem armies. And of the lot, he was the only one who actually seemed to be enjoying this place. No doubt he would find many fascinating things to explore in the Fade, given some time to rest and meditate.

“Right,” she said, deciding to take pity on Dorian, “Why don’t we call it a night? No need to push on today, we can get an early start in the morning and head down to meet with Fairbanks and his people to see if they’ve any other news of red lyrium in the area.”

She headed over to the alchemy table, pulling out a few vials to replenish her stash of healing potions and smoke bombs.

“Wotcha doing with the bottles, then, if we’re calling it a night?” called Sera, apparently bored with tormenting Dorian. The blonde had scrambled on top of the wolf’s head and was now hanging off the Dread Wolf’s nose, apparently with the intent of making Solas her new victim. It took every bit of willpower to keep a straight face, but Remli schooled her expression into one of bewilderment and surprise when she turned around.

“We’re in the woods, Sera,” she said, raising her hands to indicate the trees above them. “Even if Dorian nixed my dancing for the night, I still need to pay respects to the gods. There’s a chant and a few rituals that I need to finish by moonrise if we don’t want angry spirits raining down on our heads. You wouldn’t want Fen’Harel coming after you in your sleep, would you?”

This caused Sera to slip a little, her face going white. “Wot, really? You think them elfy spirits is gonna come and get us if you don’t— you’re pulling my leg! Ack! Balls, how’m I s’posed to know that isn’t something you Dalish do? You’re weird, Inky.”

“And the Dread Wolf will certainly catch your scent if you keep straddling his nose,” Remli replied, picking up one of the spare bows and two strings to slip into her pack. Solas actually gave a cough of laughter at that, while Sera lewdly scooted along the stone. Remli slung the bow over her shoulder, and checked the knives at her hips. “I thought it would be nice to have some fresh game for dinner tonight. I saw a herd of harts, so I figured I would bring one back for the camp.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” protested Dorian as he took a few steps towards her, then stopped, hissing. He made an attempt at a surreptitious pull at the back of his trousers, which sent Sera into a fit of giggles.

“I’ll be fine, Dorian,” Remli said, cutting off any further argument. “I’ve been a hunter for my clan for over twenty years, I think I can bag a single deer and be back before the night falls.”

“That’s not what I meant,” argued the mage, shifting his stance to reduce the rubbing. “There are Templars out there, and freemen, and demons, and Maker help you if you run into a bear.”

She paled a little at that thought, remembering the Great Bear they’d narrowly avoided when they first came to the Graves. Solas cut into her thoughts, standing smoothly and moving away from the statue to walk towards her, ostensibly to come to her side in aid, but also to leave Sera’s reach.

“Dorian is right. The danger is too great to risk an outing by yourself, no matter how simple it might seem.” He came to stand beside her, close enough for her to catch his scent, feel the tingle of his wards play against her skin. 

She remembered the taste of him in the Fade, the thrilling feel of his arms around her, his hands and his thigh and the very electricity that shot through her as he sought her lips, not once but twice. And then he was gone, and she was awake, and they hadn’t spoken of it since. And now here he was, once again.

“Having a group of people will make it harder to hunt,” she managed, tightening her grip on the bow. Solas smiled at that, no doubt catching the slight tremble in her voice, he alone knowing why it might be there.

“Then you lead, and I will follow, and we will both be satisfied, Lethallan,” he said, and damn him, it worked. She could feel the flush across her cheeks, clearing her throat over Sera’s gagging at “elfy words.”

“If you insist,” she said, turning abruptly, “but I want to use as much sunlight as possible so we can catch something and be back here before sunset.”

 

Needless to say, the sun had set long before they’d returned.

When she thought back on it, perhaps it had been silly to tempt the fates to say something like that out loud. They’d managed to catch a few nugs at least, the large prey all scared away by the surprise Rift they’d stumbled across. How the scouts had failed to notice the giant green glowing tear in the sky was something she would have to ask them later. It had been a close shave, to say the least, and when they stumbled into camp, Remli held up her hand to cut off any inquiries.

“Our morning plans have changed. Solas and I found a new Rift we’ll need to take care of. Right now, though, we need to go clean off. Sera, Dorian, can you help the scouts prepare the meat? Thank you.” Before they could argue, Remli turned on her heel and was gone again, heading down to the stream.

Solas followed her once again, a silent guardian amidst the cries of night birds and insects. Fortunately, the path down to the water was well-trodden, and the scouts had cleared out enough of the area around the camp that their trip down to the shallow stream was blissfully uneventful. The path ended at a bend in the stream, and a small outcrop of rocks created a pool with slightly deeper, slower water. A perfect spot for bathing.

As they reached the water’s edge she began shucking off the wrist guards and gloves, stacking them in a pile of ‘things to clean back at camp.’ When she went to remove her clothes, however, Solas abruptly turned on his heel and gazed back up the path. Embarrassed? She bit back the laugh, knowing he meant to give her some semblance of privacy. Surely he knew the Dalish’s relaxed view of nudity? Still, better not to give him yet another reason to view the Dalish as primitives.

“I’ll be as quick as possible,” she said, stripping off the long overcoat and the plate armor under it, and unlaced the long tunic enough that she could pull it down to her hips. Skin bare save for her breastband, she leaned down to the water and splashed the cold water on her face, scrubbing at the mud and blood caked there. 

Aside from a few stinging cuts from her tumble down the short cliff, she decided that very little if any of the blood was hers. It washed off of her face and arms with some vigorous scrubbing, but she could feel it in her hair. That meant unwinding her braids and wading further into the chilly water to scrub out the viscera, which meant getting further undressed, which meant Solas would have to wait longer before he could clean himself up.

She sighed and stood, peeling off the remaining layers as quickly as possible. “I’m sorry, but this is going to take longer than anticipated, so you might want to – Ah, cold!—might want to clean off,“ she said, unstrapping the shem shoes and pulling them off one by one. “I promise I won’t peek,” she laughed.

“It would be best not to tarry,” he argued, still not turning around. He did stand a bit straighter at the clank of armor falling to the ground, and caught himself before he turned to lecture her. “And removing your armor puts you at further risk. I suggest a quick rinse and then we should return to camp.”

“I have nug guts in my hair,” she countered, deftly picking out the braids and letting the strands fall loose. “I’ll keep my back to you, and if it makes you feel any better I’ll go on the other side of the rocks. Would that help?”

“It is not a matter of propriety, it is a matter of safety,” he retorted, and when she paused to look at him, she could see his fingers flex on his staff. Hm, interesting. Apparently she wasn’t the only one thinking about their covert kiss. Perhaps he feared for his safety, then. She had initiated it afterall. Solas, worried about what she might do to him so far from camp? That warranted a bit of teasing.

“If you’re worried about me being naked and defenseless in the water, then the best way of protecting me would be to get in the water yourself and watch over me as I wash off the rest of this,” she said, and laughed at the way his body froze, the tips of his ears turning red. “For goodness sake, Solas, that was a joke. You need to learn how to relax. You have nothing to fear from me, your virtue is safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, she carefully waded into the water, hissing at the cold. Dropping quickly to her knees, the water reached her chest, a high enough level that even the most chaste eyes would not be offended. “Alright, I’m covered, you can turn around. You’re as bad as Cassandra.”

“You chased a hart into a nest of spiders,” he replied, although he, too, took off his overcoat and tunic, leaving the undershirt on. “And after that, you stumbled upon a Rift, at which point we had to slide through the mud—“

“That was a strategic maneuver!” she interjected, teeth chattering as she washed her neck and shoulders.

“And into the briar patch. Then there was the swarm of nugs after you killed those two by the riverside. It was a lucky thing that we both escaped unhurt, you will forgive me if I worry that our luck is wearing thin,” he finished, kneeling a few feet away.

 _This would be a very inappropriate time to say anything about getting lucky,_ Remli thought to herself, _He very clearly wants to take his time and consider things. But goodness, he does make it so easy. And so very, very tempting._

Solas, oblivious to her thoughts, sunk a hand into the water. He frowned, murmured something under his breath, and light flashed under the water. When he moved his hand, a sigil glowed on one of the river rocks, and she could feel the heat flowing towards her, the bite of the mountain water subdued.

“Ooo, that feels marvelous,” she purred. Solas washed quickly, most of the mud on his clothes, rather than on his skin. Remli took a deep breath and plunged her head under the water, scrubbing at her hair and trying not to think of the taste of him, or the feel of his body against hers.

When she came up for air, the gook in her hair was gone, as was most of the mud. She gathered up her tresses to wring out some of the water, and paused, noticing an odd light flickering across the water. 

She looked up, frowning, trying to determine if Solas had cast another spell, or worse, a rift had opened here, too. She squinted, unbelieving, but, no, it was not her imagination—a small wisp drifted along the water’s edge, skimming the grasses and lazily circling the reeds.

“Solas,” she whispered, not taking her eyes off the thing. Wisps were, well, wispy, insignificant little things, usually gone before you had a chance to look on them for too long. But an angry wisp could deal a nasty bolt of magic, and if this one favored electricity it could spell trouble for them, wet as they were. The wisp reacted to her voice, however, and moved its wayward path towards her, bobbing up and down like a fishing floater on a string. “Solas!” she called a little louder.

“It is alright, Lethallan,” said Solas from behind her. “It will not harm you.”

“What are you, a wisp whisperer?” she asked, backing away from the wisp as it floated closer. She stopped when she felt his hand upon her shoulder, and she stilled, crouching beside him. “Do you think there are others? Should we try to dispel it in case it tries to follow us back to camp?”

Solas chuckled under his breath, and shook his head. “No, that will not be necessary. Wisps are gentle things, less tangible than spirits, less secure in their standing this side of the Veil. It is curious, no doubt intrigued by the magic in the area. Watch, Lethallan.”

Incredibly, he reached out a palm, a soft flare of magic sparkling between his fingers. The wisp drifted toward him, paused a few feet away, then carefully bobbed its way towards the outstretched hand. It swirled around Solas’ fingers, thin ribbons of blue interlacing its own white aura as it ‘ate’ the magic. Tiny flares and sparks danced off in different directions, and she could hear a low humming, no doubt the noise of so much magic concentrated into one space.

“Would you like to say hello?” murmured Solas, gently bringing the wisp closer, using his other hand to position her hands into a cup. With that touch, he fed a little magic into her fingers, making them alight and sparkle with borrowed magic. Her palm lit up, adding green to the colors in her hands, and the wisp greedily floated from his hand to hers.

If she had to describe it, it was a bit like the feeling of limbs waking up, that prickling sensation of numbness and blood forcing its way back into small places. There was also the nipping, nibbling feeling one would get if you kept your feet in a stream long enough for the fish to taste your toes. Gentle, fluttering pecks that felt more like kisses than bites. But it had a heat and movement to it, the magic that fed the wisps body radiating a soft warmth, the whirring tendrils of magic stirring up their own small currents of wind. 

It was… words fell short, but she could feel the grin stretch across her face, and when she looked up at Solas, he smiled in turn. He brought his hand up to cradle hers, feeding a bit more magic into her, making the mark sputter and spark. In turn, the wisp’s own magic flared, bringing more heat and colors into its swirling mass. It danced and twisted around her hands, then, drifted around them in slow, languorous eddies of magic and light. 

She felt the tingle of magic recede, but Solas kept his hand on hers, his hand a gentle warmth as the wisp trailed away, curiosity sated. Remli looked up at Solas again, eyes shining.

“Is that what it feels like when you cast spells? That warmth and energy? And do all wisps react like that if you feed them magic? Why aren’t mages swimming in wisps? That was amazing.” She knew she was gushing, but she’d never seen such a thing before, let alone experienced it.

“Wisps are gentle, curious things,” Solas replied, amused with her reaction. “Our little friend glutted itself on magic, you will notice how slowly it now moves. Sometimes, if you send them a little magic at a time, you can coax them into play, and yes, if you are willing to feed them magic, you can gather a storm.”

He shifted his hand to clasp one of hers, and helped her to her feet.

“But now I must insist, Lethallan, that you dress and we return to camp. No doubt the others have finished the meal preparation.”

And at that, she suddenly remembered that she was very close to naked in front of a man who shared a mutual, if distant, interest. And he was pointedly looking back at camp once again, although she could see a flush across his cheeks.

She cleared her throat and let go of his hand, hurrying back to her pile of gear and slipping the tunic on, securing it with a belt. The other gear was still a bit too soiled to wear and would need a proper scrubbing, so she left it off, putting everything into a bundle and tucking it under her arm. Then, boldly, she walked back to Solas, taking his hand once again and squeezing it, gently.

“Thank you, Solas,” she murmured, and glowed when she felt a gentle squeeze in return. Together, they walked back up the path, and soon they could catch the scent of roasting meat in the air.

Before they walked into camp, Remli stopped, letting go of his hand, sighing a bit at the loss. She wouldn’t push him, but she would take her victories where she could. Solas offered a smile and then walked back into the camp, looking the picture of propriety and remarkably composed. She rummaged through her bundle of goods, finding the flower crown and perching it back on her head. She heard Dorian before she saw him.

“Maker, the prodigal pair returns! What on earth were you two doing, having a tryst in the shadow of the Great Wolf? Taking cold baths to subdue the fiery flames of passion--- oh, goodness, don’t you look all the part of a wild Elvhen woman?” he said, taking in Remli in her tunic and flower crown. He paused, taking stock. “I don’t think I realized your hair was quite so long,” he said after a moment. 

“Long enough to cover her tits, you mean,” said Sera, gnawing on a nug leg. “Wot, that’s what we was all thinking.”

“Well now I am,” sighed Dorian. “No offense, Inquisitor, of course. I’m sure they’re very nice tits.” Sera snorted, then pointed the nug leg at Solas.

“Bet grumpy was hoping for an eyeful,” she cackled. When Solas didn’t rise to the bait, she turned her attention back to Remli. “Pfbt. So what were you two doing, then, if you wasn’t bumpin’ bits?”

Remli pulled up the shoulder of her tunic, going to her pack to retrieve another set of clothes.

“Let’s just say the gods will be appeased for the night,” she said, looking Sera dead in the eye as she finished, “but you might want to scrub off that cock you drew on Fen’Harel.”

“Wha—how did you? Ack! Alright fine,” Sera scowled, climbing up the wolf statue again. “Can’t even see it from down there,” the woman muttered under her breath. 

Remli smirked, starting to braid up her hair again before it could tangle.

“What were you doing?” asked Dorian, his interest still piqued. Remli shrugged, rolling the braid into a crown around her head.

“Feeding magic to a wisp in the moonlight,” she said, and Dorian threw up his hands in defeat.

“Alright fine, don’t tell me. Secret elf things in the woods involving water, I understand,” he stormed off towards the campfire to return to his meal, and Solas walked over, reaching out a hand.

“A shame that people are more likely to believe the worst sort of lie, rather than the truth,” he said, helping her to her feet. She shrugged, looking up at Sera, still busy in her work.

“I suppose it’s to be expected,” she admitted, then smiled back at him. “And there are worse things to be implied than a tryst. Don’t worry, I’ve got an old Dalish tale about magic and the river, so they can draw their own conclusions from that.”  


“Magic in the moonlight, indeed,” he replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I received a request for this story to be told from Solas' point of view. Thank you, freyahinthebreeze, for the prompt! Writing from Solas’s POV was fun! :)

He had to admit, the crown did look rather fetching on her. The pale white flowers gleamed against her auburn hair, casting an ethereal glow about her head. And the human mage made a fair point—the Orlesian cap never did much for the Inquisitor’s features. Flowers were certainly more her style, even if they were less practical.

Remli flushed and teased the mage with laments that he’d ruined her evening of cavorting in the nude (save for the crown, of course). So far as Solas knew, those rumors of the Dalish dancing naked in the moonlight were nothing more than myths perpetuated by humans. With the Dalish painted as wild heathens who practiced barbaric traditions, it was easier for humans to warrant culling their numbers, to consider them as a lesser people. Still, even the vilest rumor usually grew around a kernel of truth, and the Inquisitor had never been overly modest when they shared a tent. Perhaps the Dalish had more lax customs in such things, given their nomadic nature and tightly-knit clans.

Solas leaned against one of the massive statues raised in his honor, watching the friendly quips between his traveling companions. It was odd to act the follower, taking orders rather than giving them. Even before he slept, while he might defer to the advice of Mythal, his actions were always of his own volition, and his companions, when he had them, turned to him for guidance. Now, biding his time as he regained his strength, he was content to take on the role of advisor, watching how this Dalish slip of a thing handled the responsibilities thrust upon her.

In truth, this woman who bore his orb fascinated him. The ease in which she wore the mantel of leadership surprised him for one so young, although by mortal standards she was considered well into adulthood. Sometimes he had to remind himself of this. When her enthusiasm for exploration had them scaling sheer cliffs, he cast spells of protection under his breath. Or when she peppered him with questions about the Fade and the ancient world of elves, he realized how much she had yet to learn. And then there were times when she went about with flowers in her hair, sticking out her tongue at Sera in an almost sibling-like squabble. He chuckled under his breath, watching the Inquisitor return Sera’s rude gesture.

Still, for all her childlike tendencies, Lavellan was not an impetuous woman. The years of hunting for her clan taught her patience, honing her instincts to step in thoughtful, deliberate movements. The frequent interactions with humans made her cognizant of what weight her actions might carry— not just for herself but also for those in her care. The few times she’d lowered her inhibitions, well… He smiled fondly at the memory of a Fade kiss stolen and twice repaid in kind. No, he mused, brushing fingers lightly over his lips, she certainly was not a child.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” protested Dorian, interrupting Solas’ thoughts. The human was muttering something under his breath, trying to adjust his ridiculously tight trousers without calling too much attention to the gesture. Sera chortled, never a good sign, and Remli was busy gathering supplies, apparently ready to head out into the woods again.

“I’ll be fine, Dorian,” Remli said, cutting off any further argument. “I’ve been a hunter for my clan for over twenty years, I think I can bag a single deer and be back before the night falls.”

“That’s not what I meant,” argued the mage, “There are Templars out there, and freemen, and demons, and Maker help you if you run into a bear.”

Remli’s face lost that flush of amusement, her eyes widening at the thought of encountering another bear. She’d nearly gotten herself killed earlier that day, standing frozen in the path on a charging Great Bear. Solas had managed to pull her out of its path with a hasty fade step, and the group disengaged and fled. Apparently she’d forgotten that incident, and the memory shivered through her. He had to agree with the Vint. She should not— would not go alone. Solas stood in one smooth movement, holding fast to his staff.

“Dorian is right,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “The danger is too great to risk an outing by yourself, no matter how simple it might seem.” He pushed a small amount of magic towards her, willing the slight tremble to stop. She relaxed and flushed, unconsciously licking her lips; a small victory, as her thoughts were no longer on the chance meeting of a bear.

“Having a group of people will make it harder to hunt,” she said, her voice strained and her grip tight on the bow. He smiled, trying to put her more at ease.

“Then you lead, and I will follow, and we will both be satisfied, Lethallan,” he said, and he was pleased to see the flush darken. She cleared her throat in embarrassment, then turned on her heel, starting at a brisk pace down the trail.

“If you insist,” she agreed, “but I want to use as much sunlight as possible so we can catch something and be back here before sunset.”

 

The walk through the Graves was peaceful, the occasional birdsong echoing through the woods and mingling with the bubbling music of the stream. Remli did seem more relaxed now that they were farther from camp and among the trees. They walked in companionable silence for some time. She was not one for idle chatter, not when they were on the hunt. They moved swiftly through the underbrush, following the narrow game trail towards the water. 

There were recent signs of azure harts along the trail, grasses cut short from grazing, and fresh scat along the rocky ground. As they approached the final bend in the path, Remli crouched, raising her hand to signal a stop. She swiftly pulled the bow from over her shoulder, stringing it with graceful ease. Removing three arrows from her quiver and resting them against the string, she crept slowly towards the break in the screen.

A hart relaxed in the clearing, its graceful neck bent as it drank from the river. The massive ears swiveled back and forth, eyes scanning the area for any hint of danger. Solas watched Remli draw in a breath, noting the way she stilled her entire body, moving only when the hart moved, making little noise as she crept through the tall grasses. She brought up the bow, slowly, her breathing deep and even. Then, about halfway into position, she froze. He’d heard it too— a slight rustling among the trees across the ridge, a faint cry of a spider on the hunt.

“Fenedhis,” muttered Remli, nocking an arrow and releasing it with a quick, sharp movement. Too late. The hart’s ears had picked up the wail, and it darted off along the bank. Remli vaulted from her spot to give chase, letting fly two more arrows. This forced the beast to leap over the water and head up the rocky embankment.

Solas knew the hart was lost. Instead of pursuing the deer, he turned his attention to the spiders that boiled out of the undergrowth, the beasts screeching and spitting poisons. He had a barrier up before the liquid could hit them, but they would have to deal with the creatures before they could start up the hunt again.

Abandoning the bow, Remli switched over to her knives and leapt into the fray, twisting and slashing across the hairy carapaces before darting out of the way. Solas moved in time with her, filling the area with fire as soon as she was safely beyond the beasts. The spiders screeched and howled in pain, but they were small things, slowed by the water and weakened by the flames. The final creature was down in a matter of minutes, and Remli waded back towards him, retrieving her spent arrows.

“Well, that was a rousing success,” she grumbled, kicking one of the spiders that smoked on the riverbank. The brittle shell cracked and her leg went through it, coating her banded guards and bared calves with slick, black ichor. She stared at it for a heartbeat then sighed, withdrawing her leg with a squelch. She turned back into the water to wash off what she could.

“The hart is gone, Lethallan,” he said, trying to soothe her embarrassed flush as she splashed water up her leg, “Still, we need not go back empty handed. There were several fruit trees back along the path. If you like, we could gather some on our way back to camp. There is no dire need to bag a beast tonight.”

She raised an incredulous eyebrow at him as she waded back to the shore, kicking her leg a bit to shake off the excess water.

“Do you honestly think I’m going to walk away from this after giving you the impression that my vallaslin were blooded yesterday? I do have my pride, Solas.” She squinted up at the trees, judging the remaining daylight. “We still have about twenty minutes of light—do you mind pressing on a little further?”

He hesitated, observing her. Elves had relatively good night vision, and he’d seen her spot things in the dark crannies of caves and buildings. Despite their poor luck with the hart, he did not doubt her ability to bring down a beast. Rather, it was the worry of what else might lurk in the night that gave him pause, and if it was worth risking their lives for a minor comfort in the wilds. 

She frowned, not knowing the reasoning behind his pause. “If you would rather go back….” She said, trailing off. She bit her lip, glancing along the trail they’d followed. He shook his head, making up his mind. He knew the sting of bruised pride, and they could afford the time. If nothing else, it was relaxing to get away from Dorian’s inadvertently rude remarks about elves, spirits, and magic. Being away from Sera was an added bonus he would readily accept. And if it meant a lingering moment alone with the Inquisitor, well, who was he to say no?

“The spiders could not have scattered all of the harts,” he said, shifting his staff to point down the stream. “Perhaps if we walk a bit further along the water’s edge we will have some luck. So long as we are mindful of our surroundings, I see no reason not to press on. ”

She smiled, gathered up the bow again, and tucked it under her arm, following the river south. “Just a bit further then,” she said, scanning the forest edge for movement. “I think I remember seeing a herd in a clearing downstream.”

Remli led the way, Solas observing the woods with all of his senses. Spreading his magic in a circle around them, he would be able to notice more spiders before they came within spitting range, and he could pull the necessary mana to immediately whisk her away to safety should the need arise. Spiders were one thing, renegade humans or red Templars were quite another.

It was this awareness to the forest’s Veil that alerted him to the danger. A tiny pinprick of green light, flickering on the edge of his vision, brighter still in his spirit sight. It wavered and grew as they approached, fluctuating in size and consistency, threads of magic stealing towards them—specifically, towards the anchor.

Next came the smell, an acrid ozone smell, mixed with the citrus tang of sour magic and pungent odor of demons. His wards flared to life around them, even as Remli’s hand crackled into life. Then came the wrenching tear in the veil; unfiltered magic that spilled out of the rift and flooded the streambed with glowing tendrils of green plasma. 

The mounds oozed, and he could just make out the shapes of disfigured spirits trying to make sense of this side of the veil. They were lost, unsure of the world they found themselves in, but this was only a momentary confusion. In a matter of seconds they would warp into demons, unable to be reasoned with. It was time to go. 

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” chanted Remli under her breath, whipping her head back and forth, trying to find an opening. She flung out an arm, pointing ahead as she ran to the bushes on their right. “This way!”

The first demons were spawning around the site as the pair burst through the leafy bushes, tearing through the undergrowth. Remli pushed forward, seemingly oblivious to the branches and leaves hitting her across the face and leaving scratches in their wake. Solas winced, knowing they would sting later, and hoping he would get time to sit and heal the more distressing cuts before they returned to camp.

He locked his eyes on her back, blindly following her through the flora. Instead he focused on the vague shapes behind them, dark smudges of magic on the edge of his senses. He was so intent upon making sure that the demons were not in pursuit that he failed to notice Remli disappear in front of him. 

A single footstep later and the ground was gone from under him as well, and he hit the narrow rock channel with a thud, the wind temporarily forced out of him. He slid down the slickened groove, managing to catch the ground and vault into a standing position before he pitched face first into the muddy puddle at the base of the cliff.

Remli had not been so fortunate. He eased his way the rest of the way down, helping her stand and wincing at the angry curses she spat under her breath. She’d landed on the bow and effectively snapped it in half, the pieces poking into her side. He let out a silent prayer of thanks when he saw that the fractured weapon had not taken the opportunity to stab her through the gut. Remli threw the broken bow away, and focused on trying to clear some of the mud from her face and hair. 

Solas reached out a hand to steady her, allowing some healing magic to ease any bruising and minor injuries she might have taken. It would be easier to touch bare skin rather than work through the fabric, but it seemed that she’d suffered minimal battery to her body; no need to damage her prideful spirit as well by asking her to unclothe. Fortunately, she seemed a bit preoccupied.

“How in the name of all that is holy did the scouts miss a GIANT GAPING RIFT no less than a span from camp?” she seethed, managing to merely smear the mud and spider ichors more evenly across her face. The dark sludge clung to her armor and worked its way into the crevices of padding and plate. The whole thing would have to be thoroughly cleaned. Oblivious, she continued to rant, flushing and furious, her gait stiff as she kicked her way through the bushes.

“Did they not come over here? Did they just cut away some plants around the wolf clearing to uncover some even ground and then called it a day?” She scowled and shook her head, then took off in the general direction of camp. He followed at a safe distance watching her for signs of more serious injury. Fortunately, only her temper seemed broken. “I give up, let’s cut our losses while we still have our limbs and go back to camp. No hart, spider venom sloshing in my boots, and goodness knows what else we might stumble into—“ 

She yelped and pitched forward, her foot catching on something in the dark. A plaintive wail went up at the same time, and Remli twisted to fall on her side, pulling out her daggers and sinking them deep into the creature that tripped her. The nug’s cry echoed into the forest, and she cursed, kicking the small body off of her legs. Solas started forward, then stopped; she was fine, and coddling her would only darken her mood and further injure her pride.

“Well, do not let it be said I didn’t manage to catch something tonight,” she grumbled. She gave him a hard look, challenging him to say anything. He chose the better part of valor and remained silent. “Even if it caught me unawares, it still counts.“

“I am glad to see you unharmed, no matter the circumstance,” he said, keeping his voice level. A slight curl tugged at the corner of his lips, but he quickly quashed it, demurely folding his arms across his chest. “I daresay the others will have more questions about our appearance than about how you caught it, given our current state.”

She rolled to a sitting position, holding up her trophy by the ears and grimacing. He would have laughed at the picture she painted, had he not worried that she would think he was laughing at her, rather than in relief that she was more or less unharmed. It would make an amusing story after a few cups at Skyhold, he knew, but for now, it would be best to tend to her hurts and offer assistance as needed. 

“You can say that I made you do some Dalish ritual involving mud, but that I swore you to secrecy,” she said, giving him an apologetic smile. She looked back to her catch and grimaced. “Ugh, I don’t even like nug, they taste like bog—“

Solas could not say what, precisely, happened next. He’d lowered his guard, and therefore did not pick up on the attackers all at once. One minute she was getting to her feet, the next minute she was down again, a pile of angry, squeaking nugs…. The only way to describe it would be jumping on her. 

They had fistfuls of clothing and hair, tugging this way and that, squealing in their high-pitched voices and swarming her on the ground. Remli yelped, putting up her hands to shield her face and curled into a ball.

Solas hurried over to try knocking them away with his staff, but they ignored him, chattering and readjusting their positions around Remli’s form while avoiding the heavy oaken stave. The Inquisitor shouted obscenities that would make Sera proud, then thrust out her hand. He saw the sparkle of green rip away from her outstretched palm and took several steps back, watching the green tendril burst into a minor rift. The nugs’ movements slowed enough for her to scramble out from under them, even as the rift began to pull them up into the void. 

She knifed a few for good measure as the nug swarm got sucked into the tear. One of them kicked her as it floated through the air, though, and she lurched, slipping in the mud and landing heavily on her back with a squelch. The nug launched itself towards the tear, and the last of the little swarm disappeared with a final, lingering squeal.

Solas gingerly stepped around the nug carcasses and surveyed the damage. The scent of cracking meat and singed hair filled the air, and once again, Remli was in the mud, flat on her back. He knelt beside her, feeling for a pulse, and was relieved when she groaned at his touch, her eyes flickering open.

“Are you alright? Are you injured?” he asked, and she moaned in reply, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

“My… dignity,” she managed, rubbing her eyes to get some of the blood and mud out of her face. “I don’t know if I can get up. My dignity is mortally wounded. I am a disgrace to my clan, the Inquisition, and elves everywhere. Do you suppose if I lay here long enough the Dread Wolf will take me? Maybe a mercy killing before I die of embarrassment?”

He laughed, putting an arm around her shoulder to assist her into a sitting position. This time he did risk more intimate contact; he placed fingers along the side of her neck and across her forehead for a cursory check for injuries. Fortunately, she still seemed relatively intact—wounded dignity aside, of course.

“The situation is not so dire as that,” he said, a relieved smile on his face. “As it stands, I do not think the Dread Wolf would care to catch your scent. I believe you cut into the intestines of one of the nugs and ruptured something.”

“Not a word about this,” she said, “Or I’ll tell Josie you tried to use this against me and your supply line to those frilly Orlesian cakes you love is history.”

“Threatening my potential blackmail with more blackmail?” he chuckled. “That seems rather counterintuitive. Still, you have my word. This remains between us.” His face shadowed for a moment, and he peered into her eyes, checking her for a response. She winced a little, but followed his fingers as he moved them back and forth. “Are you well enough to walk?” he asked.

“My dignity is well and truly fractured, but I still have enough pride to hobble back to camp.” She smiled, mouth tight and face flushed beneath the mud. “If you could help me get to my feet, though, I wouldn’t say no.”

Without a word, he took her hand in his, then reached around her side to guide her to a standing position. She moved to break free, but he held fast, turning her slightly to run a hand along her side. She hissed at the contact, then eased into the healing magic as it worked into bruised muscles. 

When he felt her relax, he eased his grip and stepped back, watching her as she gingerly walked over to the nugs on the ground. Her gait was slow but sure—no signs of broken bones, no favoring of any limbs. He let out his breath in a grateful sigh.

Remli toed one of the nugs on the ground. Fortunately, her foot did not go through this kill, and the little corpse did nothing more than bleed a little. “I’ve never seen nugs act like that before. What do you suppose got into them?” she asked, poking it before picking I up by the ears. He leaned over and picked up the two nugs she’d killed with knives.

“If I was to hazard a guess, I would think they wanted to avenge the death of their friend,” he said, indicating the nug she still held in her right hand. “Nugs are more intelligent than many believe. They can be clever and bold creatures, given incentive.”

“I think the gods are telling us it’s time to go back to camp,” she said, slinging the nug over her shoulder. It made a wet slap as it hit, and she closed her eyes, apparently only now remembering that she was covered in grime. Solas winced as well, hoping for her sake it was the mud and not blood, or worse.

 

The look of abject horror in his companions’ faces as they stumbled into camp would be one to remember. Dorian had changed—apparently the rashvine had been too much—and now he stood at the edge of camp, slack-jawed and apparently torn between a witty quip and complete revulsion. Sera was blissfully silent, although the thief’s mouth moved, no doubt trying to say something lewd about rolling in the mud. Given the Inquisitor’s tender gait, and the fact that she’d needed some assistance getting up the stairs, Sera had no doubt come to some lurid conclusion. This suspicion would only be compounded by the fact that they had, quite literally, been rolling around in the mud. 

Still, Remli did not allow them a moment to inquire. She handed the nugs to Dorian, who was too stunned to refuse them. Holding up her hand to stop anyone from speaking, she barked out orders for the nugs to be cleaned and prepared, softening the command with a curt “thank you” before turning on her heel to head towards the stream. Solas followed close behind, ready to catch her should she slip or lose her balance. Given the way the night had been going, he wouldn’t be surprised to find a lyrium-infested giant sitting in the stream when they got there.

The short walk to the stream was uneventful, however, and the outcrop in the stream was blissfully giant-free. He watched Remli walk over to the pool that formed around the rocks, expecting her to walk into the water. Given the state of her armor, that would probably be the fastest and most effective way to remove the layers of filth now caked to her clothes. He was not prepared for her to start undressing, however, and he quickly turned, offering her what privacy he could.

“I’ll be as quick as possible,” she called, and he heard the splash of water as she began to bathe. He stood a little straighter, trying to focus on the woods around them. Still, he was a bit distracted by the little gasps she gave as she bathed in the cool water, no doubt surprised by the chill of the swift water. Getting clean would be refreshing, to be sure, but with near ice-water rolling down bared skin, following the tracks of her vallaslin across supple, toned limbs—

“I’m sorry, but this is going to take longer than anticipated, so you might want to – Ah, cold!—might want to clean off,“ she interrupted his thoughts with the clank of shoes hitting the ground. 

He sucked in his breath and ran a hand over his flushed face, willing his pulse to slow. Inwardly, he cursed. By allowing himself to be distracted, he’d put them both at risk. He was not some foolish youth, guided by the stir in his loins, and she was not some trifling encounter, a pretty little distraction as he bided his time. He had far too much respect for her to demean her in such a way, and would not define their complex and burgeoning relationship down to such base designs. More practically, she relied on him to keep her safe while she was vulnerable, and he would not fail her.

Had he not lived a millennia because of his caution and focus on the task at hand? Who knew what lurked beyond the river’s edge? What if there were more spiders, something small enough to cause only a ripple in his defenses, but potent enough to kill if the victim was vulnerable to attack? She would be near naked, if not completely so, and would quickly succumb to a poisonous bite. She always was a trusting soul, and he had nearly failed her. 

He straightened and stood taller, spreading out his magic to sense farther around them. He would not fail again, he would—

“I promise I won’t peek,” she laughed, and his breath caught. Teasing him, as though he was a bashful youth, afraid of what she might say when she looked upon him. Did she not realize the danger she was in? How if he let down his guard he could inadvertently kill them?

“It would be best not to tarry,” he argued, still not turning around. He shifted uncomfortably as he heard the clank of more plate falling to the ground, aware of her heightened vulnerability and hating himself for imagining what lay beneath. “And removing your armor puts you at further risk. I suggest a quick rinse and then we should return to camp,” he continued, hearing her sigh in relief as the last of the cloth fell in a soft thump. 

“I have nug guts in my hair,” she complained. “I’ll keep my back to you, and if it makes you feel any better I’ll go on the other side of the rocks. Would that help?”

“It is not a matter of propriety, it is a matter of safety,” he retorted. He was tempted, to be sure. He could feel the mud caked along his tunic and armor, the grime seeping in to dry on his skin. He longed to be clean; even in the deepest woods he remained as fastidious as possible.

Had he been at his full power, he would have cast a spell of cleansing, removing all trace of their misadventures with a simple gesture. No need for bathing in the stream like a primitive, or to carry extra clothes. No need to risk a glimpse of Remli in an advanced—if not complete—state of undress. To see her bared while healing was one thing. To stand so close to her when she was whole and hardy, teasing and warm and oh so deliciously unpredictable…

He swallowed, tightening his grip on his staff. If she approached him here as she had in the Fade, there was no telling what madness he might follow. He held a tighter reign on his emotions here than in the Fade, but his thoughts frequently returned to memories of that kiss, the surprising and timid peck she’d given him, and the soft weight of her as he pulled her in for a deeper, more passionate his. 

It was a heady memory, to be sure, one that he’d indulged in more frequently than was proper, given his situation. It was madness to think of this elven shemlen when the fate of the world was at stake, but it was increasingly difficult to rationalize why.

He shifted again, trying to banish the thought of her in the water before him, moonlight gleaming off her pale skin. If she should touch him, flirt and smile at him with nothing more than propriety to shield her, well. She made no secret of her interest in him, and he found his resolve to keep his distance crumbling. If she should kiss him… 

“If you’re worried about me being naked and defenseless in the water, then the best way of protecting me would be to get in the water yourself and watch over me as I wash off the rest of this.” 

He froze, half tempted to flee and leave her to the woods. Given his current state, she would be safer by far with the spiders. 

“For goodness sake, Solas, that was a joke,” she called, and he heard her move farther away, deeper into the stream. “You need to learn how to relax. You have nothing to fear from me, your virtue is safe.” A few muttered curses about the cold, and she called out again. “Alright, I’m covered, you can turn around. You’re as bad as Cassandra.”

Now he did turn, frowning a bit. If she would not see reason, it was up to him to remain logical and distant. He did want to clean up, however, and now that the temptation of seeing her bared skin was gone, there was no reason not to indulge in a brief washing. He pulled off his overcoat, peeling away the undershirt beneath, now stuck to his skin.

“You chased a hart into a nest of spiders,” he said, as much to help him focus as to remind her of the potential danger. “And after that, you stumbled upon a Rift, at which point we had to slide through the mud—“

“That was a strategic maneuver!” she cut in, although the complaint ended in a hiss.

“And into the briar patch. Then there was the swarm of nugs after you killed those two by the riverside. It was a lucky thing that we both escaped unhurt, you will forgive me if I worry that our luck is wearing thin,” he said, kneeling beside the water and reaching down to test the temperature.

He frowned, feeling the bite of cold water. Was the woman insane? The stream was mountain-fed and near freezing. If the spiders didn't get her, hypothermia would. He lowered his hand further into the stream, finding a rock with a smooth surface. He quickly drew a sigil of fire, seeking out a thinness in the Veil to draw out power, and tethered the magic it to the rock, creating a link between Fade and reality. He pressed magic into the glyph, releasing it only when he felt the sigil take and the rock began to bleed heat into the water.

“Ooo, that feels marvelous,” Remli purred as the now warmed water reached her. She stretched out her arms and lifting out of the water. Solas snapped his head back down and focused on scrubbing the mud from his skin. He was fortunate, his clothes had taken the brunt of the sludge, and he was quickly cleaned. With the water now warmed, however, the Inquisitor took more time to finish her impromptu bath, diving underwater briefly, then leaning back to rinse out her now freed hair.

He’d seen her in various states of undress before—the clothes she wore when she lounged around Skyhold were tailored to show the Inquisitor’s trim form, clinging to her in some places as though they were a second skin. Then, there were the light, almost diaphanous clothes she wore to bed—not that he’d gone to her rooms, but he’d found her walking the parapets one night, and with the torch lights flickering behind her, the thin cloth was unable to fully hide the curves and skin beneath. 

Then there were the darker times, when flesh was revealed as he tore away clothes to staunch the bleeding or to cleanse a wound. When they were without healers, he was the one to help her with her bandages, to lay hands on her to feed her mortal body enough magic to hasten its healing. 

There were no marks on her now, nothing beyond a few bruises and minor scratches to indicate there had been any trouble. He indulged in a slight smile and watched her out of the corner of his eye, appreciating the sight while she was distracted. 

She was lovely, despite the cruel lines of the vallaslin that branded her as property. Mythal would be pleased to have such a priestess in her ranks, and Remli would have thrived in the All-Mother’s court, but he would be damned to see her as a slave of any caste. Mythal was out there, he knew some aspect of her still lingered in the world. If it killed him, she would not have this woman.

A minor shift in his magical field alerted him to their visitor, but rather than an invading force, this was a timid, tentative brush against his wards. The wisp chewed a little on his magic, like a small fish at the end of a line, testing the bait. He smiled, tugging a little, bringing it closer and easing it along. Cole would have been happy to see it, Compassion having an appreciation for small things that shared his curiosity in the world around them. 

Remli noticed it, too, quicker than he would have thought, given her lack of magic. Perhaps it was the mark she felt, if the anchor sensed him drawing a foreign magic closer. Whatever it was, she froze as she registered what it was, and he was pleased to see it. Good, it meant she did have some innate sense of self-preservation.

“Solas,” she breathed, watching the little orb of light dance closer to them. “Solas!” She backed away from the thing, although her movement and distress caught its attention, diverting it closer to her.

“It is alright, Lethallan,” he said, coming to kneel beside her at the water’s edge. “It will not harm you.”

“What are you, a wisp whisperer?” she scoffed, creeping backwards towards the bank. He realized with a start that she was backing directly into him—a few more crouched steps and she would be flush against his chest. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her to his side, rather than into his lap.

“Do you think there are others? Should we try to dispel it in case it tries to follow us back to camp?” He heard the slight panic in her voice, and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze in assurance.

“No, that will not be necessary. Wisps are gentle things, less tangible than spirits, less secure in their standing this side of the Veil. It is curious, no doubt intrigued by the magic in the area. Watch, Lethallan.”

He held out a hand, feeding more visible magic into his palm. The wisp greedily hurried over to feed on the strands of magic, weaving between his fingers and digesting his blue mana into its white light. It gave a thin hum of satisfaction, the ancient magic no doubt a treat compared to the relatively stunted sources of magic that mortal mages might offer.

He looked up to read Remli’s face, and he smiled, seeing the wonder and intrigue. She was not alarmed—magic had never cowed her curiosity, and with his assurance that it was safe, she watched, transfixed. She leaned closer, studying this creature that so many others would dismiss or destroy off hand. He could feel the mark resonating with his magic, and an idea came to him.

“Would you like to say hello?” he asked, drawing it closer to her. He used his free hand to guide her into a position that would allow him to channel magic into her hands without disturbing their guest. He reached out and brushed against the anchor, offering a thread of magic to open the rift a little. 

His magic filled her hands, pooling in her cupped hands like lyrium, mixing in the stronger power of the anchor. The wisp glutted itself and its hum deepened, its color shifting to green as it touched a vein of the Veil through the anchor. 

She let out a gasp of delight, wiggling her fingers a little as the wisp flitted between their hands. Solas cradled her hands in his, marveling at how fragile she felt, and how warm. He could feel his magic seeping into her skin; apparently her own body was just as greedy for the offer of power as the little wisp. Still, he did not begrudge her the mana, not when she grinned at him so openly, so excited. He allowed his hands to linger, even as the wisp drifted away, fully sated.

Remli focused on his face, clasping his hands in hers. “Is that what it feels like when you cast spells? That warmth and energy? And do all wisps react like that if you feed them magic? Why aren’t mages swimming in wisps? That was amazing.” 

He felt a familiar lurch in his stomach, his smile faltering. In even the smallest things, there was always a reminder of his utter failure to his people. Were she truly Elvhen, she would not have to ask about the feeling of magic, the adrenaline that coursed through one’s veins with the casting of a spell. She would expire and fade like any shem, and he would have no one to blame for it but himself.

Still, he could not focus on such dark thoughts, not when she was so utterly delighted. He gave her a gentle smile, assuming his hahren role. 

“Wisps are gentle, curious things,” he replied, helping her to stand. “Our little friend glutted itself on magic, you will notice how slowly it now moves. Sometimes, if you send them a little magic at a time, you can coax them into play, and yes, if you are willing to feed them magic, you can gather a storm.”

He turned her away towards her armor, a gentle rebuff, and looked beyond her at the woods to avoid the temptation of a closer, more intimate look. “But now I must insist, Lethallan, that you dress and we return to camp. No doubt the others have finished the meal preparation.”

Her eyes widened, her face flushed dark as she lifted her arms across her nearly bare chest. Clearing her throat, she quickly released his hand to hastily dress in tunic and belt. He focused on the woods back into camp, silently cursing himself for his momentary lapse in judgment. Things always seemed so simple in the Fade. On this side of the Veil, he could not afford to lose sight of his goal, the results would be catastrophic for the People. There was no logic to pursuing this woman, not when she would be gone in a handful of years, sooner if they failed in their goal to stop Corypheus.

He felt her return to his side, slipping her slender fingers through his in a loose grip.

“Thank you, Solas,” she murmured, a soft smile on her face. He squeezed her hand in return, leading her to camp.

Then again, when it came to the Inquisitor, nothing was ever simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple quick notes:
> 
> On a somewhat random note, I imagine Dalish hunters/warriors moving like Lars Anderson with his badass archery skills. If you haven’t seen him in action, I highly recommend it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEG-ly9tQGk
> 
> Second was to get a feel for general consensus-- Lines in the Crestwood scene seem to contradict with the lines in Trespasser where Solas mentions the intimate nature of his relationship with Inquisitor. Based on how I originally interpreted both lines, they were intimate, if only briefly, but he stopped at Crestwood because he felt guilty about not telling the whole truth. Rereading/watching it, it seems that they were not. What do you guys think? I ask because I'm wondering if I should go back and mark my previous fics as AUs...


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